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Disclaimer - This one gets steamy. It's also in rhyme. If that don't excite you. Then don't waste your time. (This is a work of pornographic fiction. Please do not read if it would be illegal for you to do so.)

The Boars at the Ball

Welcome to the masquerade

Your costume is quite cunning.

A plague mortician's coat and mask

Is nothing more than stunning.

What about my own you ask?

I'll tell you a strange fact.

This porcine visage that I don

Is not a simple act.

While walking in a glen one night

I stumbled past a hag.

She laid quite a hefty curse on me,

Though I'm not one to brag.

I don't know how it's broken

And I don't even wish it.

If I lost my Boarish body

I am sure that I would miss it.

You see these tapping cloven hooves

That now serve as my feet?

They make me nimble, even spry:

I never miss a beat.

This middling bulge beneath my vest,

Though it may seem unneeded;

It helps with my digestion

And my strength is unimpeded.

And although my coat seems stubbly,

Just have yourself a feel;

It's smooth and warm and soft as silk

A very lucky deal.

I know my hands look clumsy,

With digits only three,

And hardened nails for the last joint,

But my dear friend trust me:

I now can thread a needle,

At least on the second try,

And I never burn a finger

Even eating shepherd's pie.

But my dear friend, we haven't got

Yet to my favorite part.

This twitching wide flat snot of mine

Makes smelling things an art.

I can sense a baking apple

From at least a mile away.

And I can tell how many cloves

were stuck in it that day.

If you fricassee a pheasant

I'll be the first to know,

And I can sense a winter squash

Still underneath the snow!

And now for my profession,

As I sure that your are curious.

The demand for truffles as of late

Has turned the nobles furious.

And so once a month I set back out

To where the things are found.

And I sell off what I gather for

A thousand pounds a pound!

Sometimes I choose to eat one;

The temptation's always there.

I can taste the finest nuance:

Every detail I'm aware.

Of cardamom and duck fat

And of freshly drying hay.

Garlic chive and jellied eel

Mixed in a perfect way.

So now I frequent ballrooms.

I thrive in masquerades.

When I deal with high society

I do it all in spades.

But I'll admit, though glamorous

My life can be quite lonely.

There's only one that's like me:

It's me and just me only.

But alas I've said too much,

I won't bore you with my woes.

What, You found it interesting?

You don't mind my upturned nose?

Well that's a huge relief then

You're much more kind then most,

And here, I'll let you have this:

A present for the host.

It's a very special truffle

From where the witch once stood.

The aroma is amazing

And the taste must be quite good.

Oh my, now you've devoured it,

I thought that you might save it.

It was worth five hundred pounds or more,

But it's my fault that I gave it.

How was the flavor, might I ask?

I can smell it on your breath;

With wisps of chive and cardamom

And herbs that do impress.

It's making my mouth water,

And I know this sounds amiss,

But I really want to taste it now

So may I have a kiss?

I'm sorry to unmask you

And end the masquerade

But for me, I told you earlier,

It was more of a charade.

Underneath you mask there,

You're actually quite stately.

So just lean back and purse your lips,

Yes that would please me greatly.

The porcine tongue is smooth but tough,

For tasting it's bar none.

The notes that linger in your mouth

Just make my senses run.

A hit of barley and chipped beef

A dash of fine red wine

A truffly blend of musk and spice

With a hint of humankind.

But you taste a little different

As your eyes grow wide and stare.

That distinctive well known flavor . . .

I tasted boar in there.

Oh dear, now tusks are growing,

And peeking past your lips

As your body starts to bulge and swell

With meat around your hips.

I did not think it'd happen.

You have my sympathy.

Although as I've said it's not that bad

So please just trust in me.

Your snout is pushing out now

As your nostrils start to flare.

The end turns wet and shimmering

As your face blooms out with hair.

A brilliant brown, if I may say,

Much nobler than my gray.

A brushy mane runs down your neck

Black as the end of day.

Just calm down, and take a breath.

Yes there you go, that's right.

I bet you can smell every scent

That's at the ball this night.

What? Oh that. Why that's just me:

My noble porcine scent.

I can see your eyes begin to gleam

With hunger evident.

You might want to remove you shoes,

Your legs will shift and move

And push and pull and swell with strength:

Your feet will end up hooves.

And how well formed the cloven ends,

They're dainty and yet broad,

And now your clothes do bulge and rip

You'd best undress, my god!

I don't want you to hurt yourself

Or choke yourself to death.

My, just see those muscles swell

Just underneath your flesh.

Don't mind as I massage you.

I just want to ease your passing.

And I can see behind you

Where your sprouted tail is thrashing

And pulling longer with a twitch

As it sprouts a brushy tip

While your tusks both pull up and curl

Just pressing up your lip.

You really are quite regal

As you rub with hooven hands

Over widening nipples,

So well rounded for a man's.

Your entire body's covered now

In a burly brownish coat.

Your arms have grown out broadly,

But I'm glad you do not gloat.

What's that? You seem distracted . . .

Ah, I see the reason why

As your black smooth fingertips

Brush past your inner thigh.

I'm afraid that boars are virile,

Maybe more than any other.

That's why your orbs do churn and grow,

They're looking good, my brother.

To the point where they hang taut

For your wide hands to grasp

Making your brown tufted ears

Pull backwards as you gasp.

I can see the passion rising,

It was there when I was changed.

But I had no one to help me,

And for you I can arrange

To help lessen the burning need.

I know just the right way.

Just through this door there is a place

More private we can stay.

Now I know it seems absurd

As you watch your manhood grow,

But there are some things about it

That a fledgling hog should know.

It's supposed to have those ridges

And look something like a screw

Made of pink and glistening flesh;

The feelings bold and new.

Just run your hand along it

And feel the twisting turns.

It's best to just deal with these things

Before it grows and burns

With roiling passion: maddening lust

And bestial sense of mind.

My good sir, we may be beasts

But we are still refined.

And so my sir, my grand idea

For problems of this kind:

I think that I might offer up

My tender boar's behind.

Now I know that it sounds vapid,

But I can see it in your eyes

As your tongue licks past your tusks

You stare towards my bared thighs.

Now we don't have to be lovers.

Just consider me a friend.

I'm just the man to help you,

After that it all depends.

But for now come closer

And grasp around my hips.

There you go my good man,

With a grin upon your lips.

Oh lordy, I can feel it

As the heat leaks from your spire

While you just arrange yourself

To meet your heart's desire.

Our breath stops as you press under

My pulled up twitching tail

And then slide in your pulsing rod

So quintessentially male.

In and out you're grinding

As your spiraled ridges tease

My pink and clenching orifice,

My writhing boarish need.

We both grunt out as I contract,

My own rod swelling out.

The air is filled with musky scents

Of maleness all about.

As you sink inside of me

And push up to the hilt

Your belly rests against my cheeks,

Your muscles nicely built.

Now you nibble at my neck

And huff against my ear.

Your building porcine lust

Is overwhelming, that is clear.

With a rock your swollen orbs

Do slap against my own

With lancing jolts of pleasure

That I very much condone.

Your hands grow tight, your body stiff

I feel your racing heart

As your cock begins to throb

But this is just the start.

You moan and bellow, as you jerk

And press inside my rear

As molten waves of boarish heat

Lance from your twisted spear.

With every jolt of fiery lust

And smoldering Porcine need,

I can't help but wag and clench

And feel your manly seed.

Don't think that this is stopping.

No, you don't know pigs too well.

The throes of boarish lust can last

For quite a lengthy spell.

Yes, oh god, it feels quite good

On my end and on yours.

So let's just let the time drift by

As we rut like boars.

That lasted a half-hour or more!

Your stamina was immense.

But you never tapered off.

The whole thing was intense.

You slide out from behind me.

Your tugging ridges yank

At my flesh as drops of seed

Do dribble down my shank.

Let's find a water closet

And get ourselves scrubbed clean.

I know there's one back here

That we can use unseen.

Yes, we're pigs not slobs here,

So let us both stay tidy.

Were regal manly beasts us both

With postures high and mighty.

Here, take this linen bathrobe

Your old clothes will not do.

You've grown a lot, my dear sir,

And stretched with muscled thew

But I know a tailor

Who's very fond of me.

We'll visit him tomorrow

For clothes, and hmm, let's see . . .

If you don't wish to be seen

On the streets in such a state,

Might I recommend that you

Come sleep at my estate?

It's no problem, I've a growler

With more than room for two,

And we can speak and then discuss

What we then plan to do.

I think that we should join in force

And be each other's friends.

I find I like your company

But of course it all depends

On what you think, and so my man

What is it that you say?

Will you leave alone here?

Or together should we stay stay?

A perfect choice! You lovely man,

A rather stunning call:

For although we are both Boarish

We are not boorish at all.